


Favors

by Cascaper



Series: Keeping Composure [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, high amounts of steam, let me be clear we are going no further than second base here, lord help me, why is there no fantasy equivalent term for making out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 12:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13166643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cascaper/pseuds/Cascaper
Summary: In which, mere seconds following the ending of 'Only for You,' some sweet caresses are exchanged.





	Favors

**Author's Note:**

> Hang onto your chocobos, here we go.

Proper thanks, as it turned out, were quite something.

Alphinaud began by taking [Name]’s hand in both his own, bending over it as though she were a princess, before proceeding to plant a trail of kisses from her fingers (one by one) right on up toward her lips- an action which might have seemed ridiculous or affected from anyone else but him. She still couldn’t help laughing a bit, until he applied a gentle bite to her jawline, which caused a ripple of goosebumps down the back of her neck and a shaky sigh besides.

“Ah,” he breathed, “you like that, dearest?”

“Mm-hm,” was all she could say in response, but that was enough; he nipped his way along the remaining distance to her mouth, and there he stayed for several long moments. All the while his hands roamed over her back and shoulders, caressing, rippling over the muscles there in the most marvelous way, til she broke from the kiss with a gasp and arched her head back for half a glorious second.

Before he could do anything further, she recovered herself and began returning his favors with a vengeance; taking hold of his braid, she tugged at it just enough that he had to raise his chin, exposing the delicate lines of his throat above his collar. With a sharp little “hm!” of satisfaction, she laid her mouth against the skin there, again and again, covering every ilm she could reach. Alphinaud shivered in her arms, his breath gone erratic from her attentions, and she loosened her grip on his hair in order to hold him closer- only for him to give a short grunt of discomfort.

“Wait- wait, something’s caught,” he panted, and sure enough she realized that one of her rings had snagged on the ribbon he always wore; though she was able to detach herself, the silk band was left loosened and askew.

“Here, let me-” she began, just as he reached back and pulled the ribbon entirely off, flinging it to the floor and then himself into her arms again. Indeed, he moved with such fervor that he came right off the stool, crashing to his knees and nearly knocking her flat on her back. As it was she did land abruptly on her bottom. “Careful!” she laughed, getting her legs out from under her; “this floor is hard, you know.”

For some reason that struck both of them funny, and the next few seconds were filled with merry peals that echoed off the walls, though they tried valiantly to keep it down. When at last they subsided, Alphinaud’s cheeks were pink as a Coerthas dawn. “You’re right, this is naught but bare stone,” he agreed. “Perhaps we should move over…” His glance darted in the general direction of the bed and back, looking a question at her that he dared not speak aloud.

The Warrior dropped her own gaze for a few seconds, as a great warmth suddenly arose in her chest. Then, slowly, she raised her eyes back to his, and nodded. They rose, deliberately, and crossed the room together.

***

Twelve alone knew how much time went by, but at the end of it they were atop her covers, cozy and blissfully disheveled. (Boots, gloves and a certain black-and-blue coat lay in a heap on the floor; her rings and bracelet were nowhere in sight- perhaps they had rolled under the bed? She would worry about that later.) Alphinaud’s head was nestled in [Name]’s lap, one arm passed round her hips, and he was all but asleep.

He couldn’t be caught here, she knew; but each time she thought to rouse him, he would contrive to stop her even in his doze- he’d snuggle closer, or let out a little sigh, or merely look so enchanting that she could not bear to disturb him. So she rested against the wall, thankful that she’d at least wedged her pillow behind her, and silently resolved never to move again.

His hair had come completely undone at some point, now spilling over her thigh in a fall of silvery white. It slipped smoothly through her fingers as she combed them along its length. She had, in fact, to pull it toward her if she wanted to reach the ends, and this she happily did, as a steady stream of endearments ran through her mind. _Sweet boy. Dearest heart. Sweet boy. Darling. Clever mind, clever hands, softest hair in all the land…_ Heh, this rhyming was getting easier. But then he stirred, waking, and she had to leave off.

“No, don’t stop,” he mumbled. (The sight of his black-stockinged legs down the length of her bed was absurdly touching.)

“Don’t stop what?” She smiled. “I’d better leave this alone now, or you’ll have a terrible time trying to put it all up again.”

“Not that,” he yawned. “What you were saying.”

The bottom dropped out of [Name]’s stomach. “S-saying?” she repeated. “I wasn’t saying anything.” _Was I? Oh, bugger it…_ “I wasn’t,” she insisted, hoping she was right, but increasingly certain of the opposite.

His lips quirked in a dreadfully knowing way, but he only said lightly, “Ah, I must have imagined it then.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “you must have.” She ignored his quiet chuckle, letting it sink through the silence.

“I would not presume to hold you to that,” he added, through another yawn.

“Hm?”

He pushed himself halfway upright to look her in the face. “To your poem’s pledge, glad though I was to hear it. I know I am wont to worry overmuch- I know you nearly always come out alive, [Name], whether I can protect you or no. But you are not immortal, nor is peace ever promised.” A beat. “Yet- yet despite all that, I want you to know that you do. Have my love, that is.”

This brought the Warrior wide awake. Indeed, she was suddenly unsure of how to breathe. “I- you-” she began, then coughed. “I mean- I do?”

Alphinaud nodded. Wordless, for once in his life. Good gods, he was serious.

_He loves me._

_Alphinaud Leveilleur loves me._

There was a sudden sting at the corners of her eyes. “Well, then…be glad, damn it, and never mind the chancy future. Peace may not be promised- but I’ll try to be.” She swallowed. “I’ll even wear your favor into battle, if you like.”

Her words gave him pause for the barest of moments. “In that case…” Then, casting his gaze about the room, he rolled off the bed to pluck something from the floor before returning to sit beside her. “May I-?”

“You may.” She could deny him almost nothing, after all. _[Guardian], have mercy._

Taking her left hand, he tied his blue hair ribbon carefully round her wrist. “There.”

“Perfect,” she whispered, cupping his face in her hands, and kissed him soundly. Let it never be said that the Warrior was not a woman of her word.

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow our boy cannot form a sentence involving the word 'bed,' even to suggest that kissing there might be more comfortable than on the floor. Also, to save my sanity, I chose to time-skip through the remainder of their embraces. (If I had not, I might well have spontaneously combusted.)
> 
> This brings us up to date on the series thus far- but keep an eye on this space, for I fully plan to continue!


End file.
